


The Warmth of Your Comfort

by coffee_and_angst24



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, M/M, Past Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Steve Rogers Feels, Sub Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_and_angst24/pseuds/coffee_and_angst24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a book I read, Comfort Food by Kitty Thomas<br/>Started off as a scene and kinda morphed into more</p>
<p>When Howard Stark dies, Tony falls into Shield's protection. Broken and traumatized, Fury puts him in the healing hands of Steve Rogers, knowing that if anyone can help Tony, it is Captain America. Steve, completely over his head, tries his best to help Tony, but soon discovers that the trauma Tony has suffered is much more than they ever could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING! this starts off quite dark. There is brain washing, psychological trauma, neglect, and there are some non-con elements.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few notes: Once this scene began to form into a much bigger story, it made me rethink the timeline a bit because this story wasn't following the typical "Steve knew Howard, then was frozen for seventy years, then met Tony". 
> 
> Steve didn't crash his ship into the ice. Howard and Erskine turned a 19 year old Steve Rogers (I am making him younger for this story than in MCU) into a super soldier during WWII, but Steve fought to see the end of the war in 1945, then continued to fight in the Cold War. He doesn't see Howard again after he goes to Germany.
> 
> In my story Maria doesn't survive childbirth. Howard is a single father, Tony being born in 1930 which makes him 18 when he is brought to a 26 year old Steve. Our story starts in 1948 when America was trembling during the Red Scare, war was breaking out all over the world, and America was being reshaped.

"What am I supposed to do with him? I am not qualified for this Fury and you know it! Give him to someone else. Better yet, admit him. He needs a doctor not a Dom. He needs help."

Steve turns away from Fury and looks back through the glass into the small square room at the young man inside. He looked so small, wrapped in a ball, his knees tucked up real tight under his chin and his arms wrapped around himself. His head though was held high, looking straight ahead with a dazed, far away look. It was the same look that Steve had seen in so many veterans at the center. What this man had been through…he couldn’t even begin to understand nor did he want to.

How did Fury expect him to handle this? To come to terms with the fact that the person who had completely torn apart the man in front him was the same person he used to call his friend? This was just too much.

"Steve."

Steve closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides, reining in the anger and the guilt that he felt. He heard Fury take a few steps then felt his hand squeezing his shoulder as he stood behind him.

"You are the only one that boy needs. He won’t trust anyone but you. And if anyone has the patience and the ability to undo the damage and piece him back together again, it’s you. Think on it."

Then Steve heard Fury’s footsteps receding and the door open, then shut, leaving him in silence. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, eyes closed off to the situation that he found himself in, wallowing in the uncertainty and anger, but a noise caught his attention, drawing him out. He opened his eyes and immediately met the eyes of the man in the room. He had moved. He was now kneeling, hands palm down on the ground and his head pressed to the floor between them. And he was speaking. "Appease my captor. Do what he says. Appease my captor, Do what he says. Master won’t hurt me. Master won’t hurt me…"

Revulsion overwhelmed Steve and his stomach turned, his heart filling his throat so that his whole body was drawn up tight and heavy and all he could do was gasp for breath as tears sprang to his eyes. Without thinking, he charged for the door and entered the room, but stopped at the threshold when he saw the man flinch. He sighed, the tears spilling over his cheeks as the enormity of the abuse this man suffered at the hands of his friend took root.

"Tony." The young man didn’t move. Steve took a step closer and softened his voice.

"Tony." No reaction. Not being able to hold back, Steve erased the distance between them and fell to the ground in front of the man. He lifted a hand and let it hover over the man’s head, wanting to offer some comfort but not wanting to distress him even more than he already was. This time his voice was barely a whisper.

"Tony." A minute went by, then the man’s head slowly lifted until he was looking up into Steve’s face. Steve’s heart gave a jolt, then shuddered as he looked into Tony’s big brown eyes. Tony looked back with a blank expression, a bit confused, waiting.

"I..um…don’t know if you know who I am, but my name is Steve. Steve Rogers." Steve saw a flicker of recognition before Tony’s eyes shuttered again and suddenly he was gone. Steve looked around and spotted Tony cowering in a corner, rocking himself against the wall, mumbling. Worried, Steve quickly scurried over to Tony and heard, “Not real. Not real. Master is coming. Master is coming. Must be good. Must be good.”

Steve’s heart shattered and not allowing Tony any time to bolt, moved in and wrapped him into his arms. Tony screamed at the touch, but Steve just held him tighter and rocked him, soothingly repeating,” I’m real Tony. Howard can’t touch you. I’m real Tony. I’m real. I promise, Howard can’t touch you. Howard can’t hurt you anymore…” After a few minutes Tony’s screams turned into whimpers, then silence as Steve rocked him, constantly repeating reassurance and comfort. Steve wasn’t sure how long they sat that way on the floor, but after a while he loosened his hold and looked down at Tony. What he saw softened his heart and hardened his resolve. There was no turning back now. He was in this for the long haul, even though he had no idea how he was going to handle this. Tony was asleep, his eyes bruised with dark circles underneath. He looked younger than his 23 years. His face was creased into a constant expression of anxiety, even in sleep. Steve could feel his ribs through his shirt and his heart broke all over again. This boy was going to be his undoing.

Steve’s head shot up as he heard the door open. He gave Fury a hard look, his jaw clenched as he pulled Tony closer into his body.

"I’ll take him. But I do this on my terms and on my timeline. God help me Fury if you try anything without my knowing. Do you understand?"

Fury raised one eyebrow, a spark of something suspicious gleaming in his eye.

"Chrystal clear, Captain."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys! My laptop died mid typing, hence the cutoff in the middle of a sentence. Finished and I shall continue tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

_May 29, 1946_

"I have to give it to you Stark, he is a pretty one."

Tony looked down at the floor, kept his eyes down. He inhaled slowly, feeling the stares of the two men in the room, one his own father. He had thought his father was an asshole, cruel and unloving, but he never could have imagined this. Fingers swept across his shoulders and he flinched, disgust washing through him.

"Hmm, lively. He has grown into such a bright young man. Less annoying and more...spunky."

"Enough Obadiah, he isn't yours to play with yet. We have more to discuss."

Tony heard two sets of footsteps leave the room and door click closed. He let the breathe he had been holding out in a whoosh. His body crumbled, his head falling to the floor, no longer having the strength to stay on his knees. Why was this happening? What did he do wrong? Tears welled up in his eyes, hot and scalding. He was terrified. Obadiah was no kitten. He was tough and unyielding to his subs, and loved mind play. Tony had no experience with other Dominants, since his father kept him isolated all of his life. He didn't stand a chance. But he would be damned if he didn't go down fighting. The fear that had overwhelmed him morphed into something boiling, rolling from his chest down to his fingers. It was this blistering emotion that filled him when his father and Obadiah returned.

"Well now Tony. Looks like we are going to be great friends."

"Stane, remember he needs training. If I'm going to have a submissive son, he might has well be the best submissive, but he needs to be able to run the company as well."

"Yeah yeah, your precious heir will be able to be just as brilliant in his inventions as he will be in a playroom."

Infuriated, Tony glared up at the men talking about him as if he weren't there. His father paled a bit but Obadiah smirked and raised his eyebrows.

His eyes burned and his chest was tight with emotion, but he held steady and stared at Obadiah. "I am not some toy to be handed over. I am a person, and worth more than just how submissive I can be. You disgust me and I won't go with you." He rose to his feet," I do not consent to this!"

Lightening quick, Obadiah lashed out and slapped Tony across the cheek, court wheeling him back onto the floor. Tony's ears rung and he felt blood drip over his lip. His cheek ached and vibrated but he pushed himself up and glared at Stane.

"Ah so you do know your place. Good, because I think that mouth will better put to other uses."

Tony felt saliva and blood pool in his mouth, and spit it at Stane's feet. Obadiah's face shuttered, the amusement vanishing as he looked down at his feet. His eyes fell on Tony, then he kicked Tony in the stomach. Tony buckled, the wind being knocked out of him, leaving him gasping and wheezing. He felt a hand painfully grip his bicep and haul him upright, just to be slapped again, his head whipping against his shoulder.

"Mmm yes this is going to be fun."

Obadiah had him thrown into the back of a van and taken to his tower, where he was promptly shoved in an empty room. More like a cell actually. Tony looked around through swollen eyes at the bare cement floors, the small bed with nothing but a sheet, the basin in the corner which he supposed was for using the bathroom in. Sadness, anger, and fear threaded through him, weaving into a rope that tightened around his throat, cutting off his air. Panic attack. That's what this was. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping, trying to calm down and draw in air but to no avail. He heard the door open but couldn't get off the floor. The last thing he remembered before the darkness took over was Obadiah's face smirking over him.

  
 

_Present Day_

Tony woke up in a panic. In his mind, he was back in the bare, empty cell. With the temperature just so to keep his naked skin warm since he was never allowed clothes. Not when he was in the cell. He didn't want to open his eyes but something felt off. It was too warm and he wasn't naked. His heart raced, his body already reaching the conclusion his mind didn't want to face. He opened his eyes, jerking his head to every corner, eyes scanning the room for clues. His heart dropped and his breath became trapped in his chest. He wasn't in the cell, which meant only one thing. Master was coming. But something was different. Instead of the opulent curtains, rugs, and pillows that always graced the playroom, this room seemed ordinary. It wasn't draped in velvets and silks in deep colors of red, but ordinary linen in shades of gold. He was lying in a small twin size bed and not that large king sized poster bed. Where were the chests full of toys and the cloths that usually bound his arms and legs? Where was the water basin? Was this a joke that Howard was playing at? Was Obie somewhere lurking in the shadows? Why was it so quiet? Where was he? Why was he here?

The unknown was always terrifying. He had memorized the signs and patterns of his father and of Obie, he always knew when and what they had planned, to avoid that terrifying and constant fear. And now, looking around and seeing nothing familiar, he felt that fear clawing up his throat and freezing his limbs, squeezing him until he was a trembling, whimpering mess rocking against the headboard. A million different things raced through Tony's head. Was he going to be used? Was he going to be tortured? Were they going to play mind games? What was going to happen? Were they just going to leave him here to slowly go insane?

They had left him in his cell to slowly starve of social interaction before. Were they going to do that once more? He couldn't take that. His father had quickly figured out that he was a social, spirited boy and continuously denied him company. No siblings to play with, no friends his own age, he kept Tony from school, leaving him to entertain himself. As he grew older, Stane used the same tactic but expanded on it, leaving him in a room for days in silence. No books, no sound, no touch, no interaction what so ever. Complete sensory deprivation. It became Stane's favorite game to play. To see how long it took to turn Tony into a quivering, begging wreck, because once he was reduced to that state, he would do anything for contact, anything for social interaction. Rocking against the headboard, Tony hoped whatever game they were playing would commence. The unknowing was driving him crazy. At least once Stane would show up, he would know what to prepare himself for. He was used to going over hundreds of scenarios and solutions in order to prepare for a problem down in the lab, always liking to be well prepared for anything. It was the same now. He stared at the door, waiting, yearning for someone to walk through just so the waiting could stop!

The door swung open and all of Tony's bravado vanished. He ducked his head into his knees, no longer wanting Stane to show up. Awash with dread, he prayed for Stane to retreat and leave him in peace.

"Tony?"

Tony cringed inward, balling up tighter. Oh no not again. He had to stop doing this! Captain America was not his hero, he was never coming to his rescue. As a child and a teenager, he would dream the Captain America would save him. But he was long gone, and Tony was out of his reach. The man in his father's stories did not exist and he was beyond saving anyway. It would only make his father more angry when he would see drawings of Captain America or hear him muttering his name. It would only bring on a more drawn out torture. He just could not endure it.

"No Tony, please, you are alright."

Strong arms enveloped him and he had to hold in a cry as he recoiled from the touch, but at the same time wanted to sink into it. Touch starved, any touch, even one that hurts, is welcome. But this touch wasn't sharp or painful, but soft and warm and tender. Hope blossomed in his chest where he never thought he would feel warmth again. All the while, the arms stayed snug around him and the hands pressed into his back, soothingly petting him into submission.

"Are you alright?" Tony felt the arms loosen and pull back, and when he opened his eyes he saw Steve. Golden Steve with blue, earnest eyes that were filled with concern. It was such an odd expression. He had never seen someone concerned for him. Annoyed with him. Angry at him, yes. Condescending, impatient, indifferent. All these expressions he was well familiar with, but not concern. It caused the warmth to bubble and flutter in his belly. Tony nodded, not yet able to find his voice to speak. Steve smiled, slowly releasing him to walk over to a tray on the floor. Steve's wide shoulders blocked his view, and before he could control it, his mind ran rampant with thoughts of what was on the tray. Needles, knives, spreaders, paddles, a whip? His body tensed and he must have made a distressed noise because Steve whipped around, tray in hand. Steve's smile faltered and his eyes clouded with uncertainty.

"Um...hungry?"

Tony exhaled uneasily, and even gave Steve a wobbly grin, the corner of his mouth tilting up quickly. But even that small gesture caused Steve's smile to blaze and for a moment Tony was dazzled. He had never had a smile focused on him that way. To be the source of someone else's happiness like that was so new that for a moment Tony stared, completely blank on what to do next. He narrowed his eyes. Was this some sort of trick? Was this another mind game? Was he to have warmth and happiness dangled in front of him and then be deprived of it, like so many other things?

Steve set the tray beside them on the bed, continued to talk, unaware of Tony's disconcert. "I wasn't sure what you would like so I brought a little bit of everything. Some oatmeal, butter toast, an omelette, waffles in case you wanted something sweet..." 

"Toast."

They both stared at each other. Tony was shocked that he had spoken. Steve nodded, encouraged, and handed over the plate with toast on it. Tony glared at it and could feel the anxiety mounting. Sweat popped up on his forehead and suddenly he wasn't on the bed with Steve but back in the cell with Stane standing over him, handing him papers. Weapon developments and shipment orders, photos showing his weapons in the hands of terrorists, being handed books and newspapers only to have them filled with death and devastation, food that was rotten and couldn't be eaten. Every time he was handed something, it resulted in death or despair. His vision ran red with blood shed from the control Obadiah yielded over him and he yelled, shying away.

"Tony, Tony, it's ok. It's alright Tony, you are safe." He blinked and Obadiah vanished, Steve once more before him. He found himself cradled in Steve's arms, soothing away the flashback. Tears spilled from his eyes as the guilt and fear pressed down on his chest, weighing him down. "It's ok Tony, look I'll feed you. Ok? Is that ok?" Tony jerked his head, embarrassed, ashamed, not knowing what to do. Everything was so new, unknown, and he was so tired. He was emotionally exhausted, the constant vigilance and mental warfare draining him.

Steve brought a piece of toast to his mouth and he took a bite. And again. They repeated the process, Steve allowing Tony to chew and swallow, bite by bite until both pieces were gone and half the oatmeal. When Tony's eyes started to droop, Steve pulled the blankets back and tucked Tony in. Right as Steve stood up to leave, Tony reached out and grabbed his hand. It was the first time Tony willingly made the first move to touch Steve. 

"Do you want me stay?"

Tony let his eyes drop slowly in affirmation. "Ok, I'll stay and watch. Nothing can harm you while I'm here." He pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, sat down, and started stroking Tony's hair until his eyes fell in sleep. As Steve watched Tony twitch and moan in his sleep, a plan started to form in his mind. Howard was dead, Obadiah's whereabouts unknown, but he needed Tony to know that he was safe and find a way to heal him. It was going to be hard, but Steve knew that if anyone deserved to know love and happiness, it was Tony Stark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long long wait you guys! But no fear, it hasn't been dropped. Posts will be a bit more regular now. :)

As Steve watched Tony's chest rise and fall with every breath, hoping that he find peace in his dreams, he reflected back on the facts, trying to make sense of it all. Howard had been involved in the making of Shield, working side by side with him, making him who is now. He helped turn Steve Rogers into Captain America, fought for the good and the right, worked with him to make the world a better place. Sure he had his own ulterior motives and was arrogant, conceited, and a bit of a pig but he still fought for what was right. The Howard he remembered and was friends with, was a man of integrity and had a moral compass that pointed true north. Or had that been an illusion? Had that been just what Steve had wanted to see in his friend, or was that truly how he had been? What could have happened in those years Steve was gone to make Howard change so drastically because none of this made sense. What would make Howard turn from the man he remembered to a man who would turn over his own son to a known sadist? And even through all of that, Howard had continued to work with Shield, continued to develop weapons and equipment to keep the country and its soldiers safe. If he still believed in Shield's cause, then why team up with Stane? How could Howard rationalize working for the good of mankind and keeping the world safe from terrorists and bullies, then turn around and willingly force his son into the hands of the exact type of person he fought against?

Then there was the fire, explosion really, that landed Tony in his hands to begin with. Shield gets an anonymous tip claiming there is a threat at Stark Mansion. A team arrives to find the mansion in flames and a crazed Howard yelling a combination of numbers but not making any sense. Then he vanishes inside in time for the mansion to implode, leaving the firefighters and team of police to fight the blaze. It was Steve who found the stairs buried beneath the rubble that led to the safe room. A steel bunker with an entrance pad. It was Steve who realized that the nonsense that Howard was yelling was not nonsense at all, but the entrance code into the bunker that held his unconscious and bleeding son. The same son that he had not cared for almost his entire life. Why the sudden interest? Why sacrifice himself now for the son that he didn't seem to care about before? What caused the fire? Why didn't he also hide in the bunker with Tony? None of it made any sense.

While Tony was asleep, Steve took the time to approach Fury about exactly what he was dealing with here. Fury leaned back in his chair, the chair groaning with the pressure, as he looked at Steve over steepled fingertips.

"Do we know where Stane is?"

"We have a few leads but no concrete coordinates. We have our best teams on it. We also have an open investigation on what exactly happened at the Stark Mansion. I don't believe that it was just simply a house fire. With Tony in the condition that he was when we found him and Stane missing in action, there is something that we are missing."

"I can tell you why Stane is missing! Because he is guilty of neglect and physical abuse, not to mention sexual assault! The condition he is in? Director Fury, he is traumatized. He is absolutely wrecked. Finding Stane and making him pay for his crimes should be your first priority!"

"Calm down, Captain. Obadiah Stane IS our top priority, however he is our responsibility, where Tony is now yours. Rather than coming here and jumping down my throat trying to tell me how to do my job, maybe you should be back in your quarters finding a way to make Tony better."

Steve glared at Fury, who glared right back. He could feel the anger surging through him and something whispering that Fury couldn't be trusted, but he turned and left the office anyway. He headed back to his room, hoping that Tony was still asleep. He hadn't wanted to leave Tony alone, but the call the action was driving him, making it impossible to sit still. And what was Fury's motivation for Tony being better quickly? Why was he so concerned? Fury never did anything unless there was a reason.

He entered his floor and peaked in on Tony, who was still asleep. Moving into the kitchen he began preparing two mugs of hot chocolate. It was his go-to when in moments of stress. It was something his mother did for him when he wasn't feeling well or was sad, before they began rationing chocolate. As the milk was heating, he turned on his radio and tuned it into the Voice of America station to catch some news. This world was turning into a very unsettling place. First, the horrors of World War II, Hitler and those like him sprouting out of thin air, trying to rip justice and freedom away from people. Now, the Soviet Russia falls into communist hands and the terror starts all over again, barely giving the United States a reprieve to heal from the last war. Negotiations were not going well. Soviet forces had begun blocking any American and British trains to Berlin in retaliation to us ignoring their threats and meeting under their noses to discuss what best to do with Germany. And as the tension over seas was mounting, tension on American soil was thrumming with panic. The Communist Party of the United States had been steadily growing while we were away fighting in WWII, and now instead of focusing all attention fight the communists in Eastern Europe, we were having to split our focus overseas as well as here at home. And if that wasn't bad enough, now there were cries of espoinage everywhere. Whatever happened to peace? What happened to loving thy neighbor? Being productive to your community, loyalty to your country, protect freedoms that are every person's given right?

Frustrated with so many unanswered questions buzzing around in his head, he slowly added the chocolate to the hot milk and watched the creamy chocolate melt and swirl around in the milk until the colors merged together. His thoughts drifted to even more unanswered questions. Tony. What was he to do with Tony? The fragile eighteen year old was broken, there was no doubt. And he knew after the hell he'd just walked out of that no amount of soothing words would put his mind at ease. It would just take time. Watching him like this broke his heart. How many days, weeks, months could he go on living with someone with this level of fear toward him? With this level of psychological damage? Because of his mind being messed up there was no doubt. Stane had ripped this boys mind apart and it was up to Steve to put him back together again. No, no that wasn't right. It was up to him to help guide Tony to put himself back together. One couldn't help another person, unless they themselves wanted to be helped. And Tony, at this point, may not want to be helped, or may be unable to know that he can be helped. Steve set Tony's mug to cool and he took a long gulp of his, letting the hot milk burn its way down his throat and clear away his uncertainty. He needed a game plan. I plan of action. The first thing to do was to get him comfortable. He needed to establish rules, boundaries, to put Tony's mind at ease. The kid was so jumpy and wary of everything around him.

A noise caught his attention and his head shot up, immediately turning toward the back room. Steve got up, grabbed Tony's mug, then quickly walked over to Tonys room. He slowly inched the door open and peaked inside. Tony was sitting up, his back to the door. Steve knocked softly to get his attention and Tony whirled to face him. His big brown eyes were watery and shining, one glistening track was drawn down his right cheek. As he approached, Tony slid from the bed and onto his knees, staring up at Steve with such a wounded expression that Steve's heart clenched viscously. He fell to his knees rather clumsily and set both mugs on the floor next to him and framed Tony's face with his hands.

"What is it Tony?"

"I just..The silence . . . I . . . I can’t do this again. I can’t believe in something that isn’t a nightmare only to have it torn away again. Please, please, just be real. Be honest. Keep me in the dungeon or beat me or whatever it is you want, but please don’t pretend to be something you aren't.”

"Tony, no. I am real. This room is real. The breakfast I fed you earlier was real. Look, here, have some hot chocolate."

Steve turned to pick up a mug, then dropped it to the floor when Tony gave a ear splitting shriek.

"How did you know?!! I knew it! He's here isn't he?? Where is he?? Why...why...I can't..i just can't..."

Tony was waving his arms and racing around like a caged animal. The hot chocolate was like a blood stain on the floor, pieces of broken ceramic everywhere. Steve was in shock. He went from being a sad, wounded boy to a crazed and angry within a second. What triggered him? He had been trying to calm him and instead enraged him.

"Obie! Obie where are you?"

Tony whirled on Steve, who had gotten to his feet. His face was crumbled, his eyes wild and devastated, "How could you? What did he promise you? Where is he??"

Tony's voice was high pitched, cracking, and abused. Steve flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around Tony, then fell to floor with him in his lap. 

"Sh Tony. Obadiah isn't here. He isn't here. I haven't betrayed you. I would never betray you. I want to help you. Take care of you."

Tony's body trembled in his arms, silent tears dripping from his cheeks onto Steve's arms.

He was tired from all the fear. He felt like he’d gone non-stop on adrenaline for so long until his ability to produce it had just stopped. He’d been running on fumes, just trying to survive for months and he was on the verge of collapse.

Steve turned Tony so that he was facing him, his eyes focused on Tony's. If Tony hadn’t been wrapped in Steve's arms, he would have run far away from the look in Steve's eyes. He was terrified to have that kind of intensity turned on her.

"Tony, I am not your enemy. Do you understand? I want to be your comfort. I know it will take time, but I want you to trust me. And I will do anything in my power to earn that trust. Can you tell me what I did wrong? Please?"

Tony sat frozen for a few seconds, then his body visibly relaxed. His whole body melted into Steve, his head falling to rest on Steve's chest. Steve's heart began to race. That simple act of submission, probably unintentional, triggered something inside Steve that he had never experienced before. He was mesmerized by Tony. The way his body moved, so graceful even when he was afraid and panicking. The way he fell so smoothly to his knees, so effortlessly. He felt sick, because he knew that the reason why Tony moved the way he did was because he was trained rather brutally, but that didn't change the fact that it stirred something inside him. In the short time Tony had been in his care, the boy had gotten under his skin.

"The hot chocolate."

Snapped out of his thoughts, he brought Tony's head up so he could look into his eyes.

"What?"

His gaze was so defeated, sad, but also open in a way that he hadn't seen before.

"The hot chocolate. Obie would give me hot chocolate and tend to my wounds the day before he would torture me. At first I believed he was being gentle, but I soon began to realize he was stripping me of my safety. Things I once found comforting, he turned into something to fear."

Steve was in turmoil. He was angry, he was nauseous, and he was enthralled. The strength of this young man before him, even in his broken and damaged state, was enticing. He needed to get himself in check, otherwise this boy could very well make him lose site of the big picture. He tightened his grip on Tony, one hand pressing into the small of Tony's back and the other reaching up to grip the back of his neck. Tony's leg were draped over his thighs, and Steve tried to ignore the feel of firm muscle against his.

"We are going to set some rules. You are free to move around the apartment as you wish. The tv and radio are available for your use as well. We will eat our meals together, though if you get hungry between meals, the kitchen is open. If you need something, you will tell me. We will spend most of our time together, though you will have some designated alone time in the evening. There will be no leaving the apartment without me. There will be no communication outside the apartment without my permission first. You will sleep with me, in my bed, unless otherwise told. It will make it easier for me to keep an eye on you. Do you understand?"

Tony nodded, his eyes widening a bit at the last command. Steve's mouth quirked involuntarily. He wasn't sure what made him say that, but he wasn't going to take it back. The sooner Tony learned to be comfortable with him the better. A sudden rush of protectiveness flowed through his veins, making him act on impulse. He pressed his fingers into Tony's neck and brought his face so close to his that their noses were almost touching.

"I take care of what is mine." Steve was so fierce with it that it stole the breathe right out of Tony's lungs, leaving him weak and slightly stunned. Then Steve pulled and suddenly his lips were pressing to Tony's. It was not a gentle kiss. It was a kiss that claimed, that left an impression. Tony's lips were chapped, but so delicious in the way they relaxed, then gently pressed back. His hesitant gift of submission was hypnotizing and Steve found himself pressing closer. When Tony began to struggle, he pulled back, his heart pounding like a staccato beat in his chest.

"Ok, well lunch will be in an hour, go ahead and shower and meet me in the kitchen when you are done." With those final words, he set Tony to the side, stood, and left the room.

 


End file.
